


Lead Me Unto My Own Resurrection

by AdelineAround



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bottom Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Canon Compliant, Canon Temporary Character Death, Choking, Death by orgasm, Dom/sub Undertones, Knifeplay, M/M, Resurrection, Rimming, Shibari, Spanking, Top Thanatos (Hades Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: Eager and ever anxious, Thanatos succumbs to trying something new with Zagreus in that bedroom of his. Thatsomethingis intriguing, thrilling and a lot more than one thing, he comes to find out.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 170





	Lead Me Unto My Own Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yikesjak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesjak/gifts).



> For [Jak](https://twitter.com/yikesjak/). Thanks for being a baller friend.
> 
> I may have fallen _deep_ into Hades this time 'round. Nevertheless, I hope you can enjoy the madness that overtook me to write such a fic as this one.

Thanatos is unceremoniously thrust against the wall of Prince Zagreus’ chambers, lips attacking his own in a fierce mingle of unspoken desperation that even the Fates cannot decipher.

With a knee slipped between Zagreus’ stance, Thanatos feels Zagreus’ arousal against his thigh. Feeling bold, he grinds against it slowly. A guttural moan rises from the prince’s throat, one of which Thanatos pries open Zagreus’ mouth with his tongue so he may consume the taste of his lovely voice. They mingle with one another, explore more than fight for dominance. Thanatos feels Zagreus’ grip on his shoulders tighten, hips rutting sloppily along his upper thigh.

Thanatos breaks the kiss, only to earn a soft whimper from the other.

“Than, please.” Zagreus’ words sound like music to his ears.

“What is it you need?” Thanatos’ timbre is soft yet clear as crystal.

Zagreus need not reply verbally. His body says it all, shaking in the arms of his lover. He is trembling, not from fear or anxiety, but quite the opposite: anticipation, the need to quench the thirst burning inside of him. He pushes up flush against Thanatos, chest against chest, his flesh hot like a brand against him. His whole body is vibrating with need. Thanatos is caught by those mismatched eyes boring into him, captured by their gaze. Zagreus’ pupils are so large, they dare to swallow the color from his irises.

Thanatos takes the bony part of the prince’s chin, slotting their mouths together in a crushing kiss. His other hand caresses Zagreus’ neck, thumb grazing across the apple-like bump there. Zagreus moans, more heat blooming between them. For a moment, their kiss is bruising, Thanatos’ fingers pressing hard into the grooves where his carotid pulse beats all the more rapidly. When Thanatos releases the pressure, Zagreus gasps for breath, “More of that. Oh gods, please.”

Zagreus begs so pretty. Thanatos gulps, his lower half growing and utterly throbbing, but the plea Zagreus makes is curious, intriguing, and something he and the prince have most certainly discovered by accident not long ago. Uncertainty wells up in him then. It has only been a week since their last encounter. Despite the logical side of his brain telling him he is ready, that _they_ are ready, the tingle of anxiety laces his confidence.

“Zagreus,” He pants when the underworld prince takes his pause as a sign to lead. Zagreus nips at Thanatos’ jawline, tongue flicking along the underside to tease. “Wait—”

But he can feel just how much Zagreus needs this, needs _him_. Zagreus makes a point to tug at his robes, a silent request for Thanatos to rid himself of them. Thanatos wants much the same for Zagreus; the splendor of seeing the prince sans clothing will never grow old.

“You’ve spoken to Meg, have you not?” Zagreus says, “She assures me that you are equipped with more than enough knowledge and skill.”

“Assures you…” Thanatos’ eyes widen when he realizes the First of Furies, Megaera, has told Zagreus that he had sought his colleague out for advice and training. 

“Don’t look so alarmed, Than,” Zagreus says, his voice doing nothing to conceal the smirk on his face. “If there is anyone to teach you in that art, it would be Meg. You and I both know she is an expert in what she does. Besides, I trust her.”

Of course, because Megaera would be so eager to whale on Zagreus any chance she can get whenever he is on one of his escapades through Tartarus. Thanatos has not been known to do such a thing, not with Zagreus. Megaera was none too pleased to help him until he had convinced her with fancy words that stroked her ego. It took everything against his nature as a non-violent death incarnate to follow her instruction, to craft and meld tactics that both he and Megaera know will please the prince. Surely, he could have asked Lord Ares for guidance, but Ares is a god of war and not one of pleasure, though Thanatos is sure what Zagreus finds arousing is farther from sweet, gentle passion and more towards the cunning viciousness that brutal war can be.

Zagreus is moving again, snapping Thanatos out of his own thoughts. If he could, he would climb Thanatos like a tree, no doubt. He searches for the knot that keeps Thanatos’ skull-buckled belt tight, fingers deft and diligent as they undo it like he has done so a million times before. It comes off and lands on the ground with a thump, allowing part of Thanatos’ robes to flow freely.

He tugs on them again. “Off. I want it all off.”

Zagreus looks at Thanatos like Cerberus does a juicy, fetid treat. It is like he is testing Thanatos, poking him until he reacts. This is not unlike what he does in conversation, sometimes. And because Zagreus is prodding so much, it is only fair that Thanatos give him that reaction.

Thanatos’ hand shoots to Zagreus’ throat in an instant. He does not squeeze hard, but it is enough to keep him firmly in place, unable to breathe. He can feel Zagreus swallow nervously, surprise imminent on his face. This time, Thanatos finds the strength to move them away from the wall and towards the prince’s bed.

“You get to have it off when you’ve earned it,” Thanatos hears himself say. He pushes Zagreus to the bed uncaringly, watching him bounce on the plush mattress and covers. He puts on a nonchalant expression, authority in his words, “You will strip for me, then unsheath the knife I’ve concealed on my person. Do you understand?”

When Zagreus chokes out an affirmative, Thanatos releases him, standing back to observe him gasping for breath.

The prince is quick to recover, getting to work on his clothing. Thanatos stares appreciatively as Zagreus removes his belt and decorative sash, laying it carefully next to him, the skulls face down. His chiton slips from his covered shoulder, pooling around his hips to reveal his sculpted figure. His tongue swipes at kiss-swollen lips as he removes both bracers from his wrists, letting them flutter to the ground like ribbon before bringing his hands to his exposed nipples. He rubs circles around them both with middle fingers, sighing softly as they pebble and deepen in shade at his touch.

Thanatos clears his throat, “I told you to strip, did I not?” As much as he loves when Zagreus pleasures himself, right now is not the time.

“Demanding, demanding,” Zagreus quips with a grin, but he does stop his ministrations to continue removing his clothing.

He flings his chiton haphazardly somewhere to a corner of his room, arching his back a little to show his body to Thanatos. Then he is bending over to remove the armor that keeps his shins and legs’ tendons (per Achilles’ instruction, himself) protected during combat. They clang loudly to the floor, but neither of them mind.

The tight, aerodynamic leggings, if he can call them that, are all that is left. They cling to Zagreus like a second skin, hiding nothing from plain view. Thanatos notices the darkened wet spot at the groin of said leggings and dares not to flare his nostrils at the sight.

“Like what you see?” Zagreus asks, tilting his head at the death incarnate. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband, revealing chiseled hip bones.

Thanatos’ eyes trace the dark trail that leads from just under Zagreus’ belly button to down below, feeling his confined cock pulse at the sight. He wishes to follow it with his mouth, but that will have to wait until later.

“Make haste,” Thanatos replies instead, putting on an air of impatience. He reaches down to readjust himself in his pants. “I’m a busy man, Zagreus.”

“Yes.” Zagreus eyes him hungrily.

Thanatos gives him a short glare. “Yes, what?” They’ve talked about this before.

Zagreus purses his lips, cheeks flushing warmly. Then he mutters, “... Yes, sir.”

Thanatos quirks a brow. “Louder.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, now undress quickly before my boredom gets the better of me.”

With that, the prince peels his leggings off, leaving him bare except for the laurel wreath of a crown that always seems to stay on at all times; shedding leaves that disintegrate to ash, then nothingness, as quickly as they fall. He has chosen to forgo any undergarments, not that he ever found it necessary to wear them, unless when donning a plate skirt for battle. Thanatos does not avert his eyes when Zagreus’ endowed godhood pops free from the garnet fabric of his bottom wear, instead soaking in the visual like a sponge and committing it to his mind.

Zagreus is as excited as he is, standing in the nude; rock hard and ready for more. He steps out of his clothing, making his way to Thanatos with his ember-laden feet scorching the ground intentionally… sensually. He reaches out to feel Thanatos’ left thigh, sweeping blindly under the robe there to find the knife strapped securely to the death incarnate’s limb. His hand is dangerously close to Thanatos’ hard cock.

“Is this the knife, or are you just happy to see me?” Zagreus chuckles when his hand wraps around the handle of the blade.

Thanatos growls a warning, “Get on with it, or there will be nothing for you at all to be happy about.”

Zagreus hums, but gets the indiscreet hint to move on.

Unsheathing the knife, he points it downward and offers it to Thanatos. “Do it, sir,” he whispers.

The urge of possessiveness, to claim, to make his mark upon Zagreus becomes overwhelming the moment he takes the blade from Zagreus’ hold. What would it look like, he thinks, to mar the prince’s creamy skin with sharp metal, watch him bleed out the prettiest of red like the river Styx? 

Taking the blunt edge of the knife, Thanatos starts off by tracing along Zagreus’ strong jaw. The prince’s breath hitches, feeling the cold metal along his skin. Thanatos watches him visibly force himself to relax so they may continue; he traces down Zagreus’ chin to his throat. He reaches to Zagreus’ décolletage, keeping the knife steady when it arrives just below a prominent collarbone, right at the top of a pectoral muscle. With lightning speed and precision, he flips the blade to its sharpened side and slices the godly skin there.

Zagreus flinches, top incisors biting down on his lower lip to stifle the cry that ejects from his vocal cords. Ruby-tinted blood wells up from the cut, dripping down the hot plane of his torso. It adorns him like hanks of crystals, shining in the bedroom light. In Thanatos’ opinion, blood suits Zagreus far more than gemstones.

“Gorgeous,” he mutters, mostly to himself, but Zagreus perks a little at the quiet praise. A gasp escapes him when Thanatos brings his fingers near the wound, smearing the red over that side of his chest.

The blood is so warm as it flows sluggishly over Thanatos’ fingertips. He uses it to draw over Zagreus’ skin turned gooseflesh. It is beginning to go tacky in some areas as the blood thins and dries. Thanatos does not have to look down to see how this is affecting Zagreus; the prince’s cock stands at attention, uncut and perfect. He knows the way his precum pearls at his slit, salty to the tongue.

He cannot get stuck on that though, as much as he craves to drop to his knees and take Zagreus into his mouth. Thanatos locates Zagreus’ nipple with his wet fingers and rolls them in his touch. The knife in his other hand begins to roam over Zagreus’ bare form again like it has a mind of its own.

Zagreus curves into the touch involuntarily, already strung tight like Artemis’ bow. He sobs when Thanatos’ blade finds his left flank, cutting into it with ease. He releases his abused lower lip from his teeth as he groans.

“Good?” Thanatos asks, keeping his voice soft despite the myriad of emotions that is whirling inside like a hurricane.

Zagreus gives him a nod. “Keep going.”

So Thanatos does, the knife digging a little deeper into Zagreus’ side. Zagreus looks beautiful like this, face contorted in pain for a second before it goes elated as he adjusts. The death incarnate feels Zagreus’ lifeforce surge rapidly beneath the pads of his fingers, over the blade that bites into his skin. How his first instincts are to grab at that life and take it from its vessel, like he does above on the earth.

“On the bed,” Thanatos orders, stepping away and taking the blade with him to regain his composure.

He takes this time to disrobe, baring his body to Zagreus as he too has forgone any underclothing for the sake of convenience. He keeps his adornments on, though, unwilling to part with the precious metal that has warmed to his temperature. His skin, in comparison, is much duller than Zagreus’, less flushed with subcutaneous flame and more ashen and pale.

“So handsome,” breathes Zagreus then, dispelling Thanatos’ view of himself. “So handsome that I would like nothing more than to lose myself to you, Thanatos.”

The prince says such sultry words. Thanatos’ cock twitches though Zagreus has done nothing but speak and tempt him with the sight of his gorgeous body. Thanatos hovers over Zagreus, feeling a light sheen of sweat coming over him as Zagreus expels heat like no other. If he did not know better, Thanatos would have thought he would surely be burned just touching the prince, even though he is not. Zagreus has since learned to control his fire, though it has taken years of training, for which everyone can agree they are grateful for.

He claims Zagreus’ seductive mouth once more, smiling into the kiss when Zagreus tenses at the feel of the knife upon the round of his cheek. He nicks it, the scent of iron bursting from Zagreus. He draws back to observe the way his blood trails in a rivulet down the side of his cheek before following it with his tongue.

Though he has never been one for blood-letting or drinking like the mortals and some immortals that grace the earth above are wont to do on occasion, Thanatos finds that he does not mind whetting his palate on Zagreus’ liquid life; metallic with an underlying sweetness that has Thanatos wanting to go back for more, take more and drink greedily from the prince. But he should not. After all, he is no vampire.

Zagreus’ jewel-toned eyes have slid shut by the time Thanatos lets up from his cheek. The god is still bleeding, although sluggishly, from the first and second lacerations, smearing red over Thanatos as he brushes his chest against Zagreus’ for a moment.

“Eyes on me,” Thanatos says. Zagreus obeys without a word. Then, he is leaving the prince’s side.

“No—” Zagreus almost cries out, but stops when Thanatos shoots him a glare from the corner of the room.

Retrieving the velvet bag that sits on the tile, Thanatos undoes the cinches to reveal a rope. He feels the heft in his hands, appreciating it for a bit before bringing himself back to Zagreus.

“Do you know what this is?”

Zagreus lifts a dark brow. “Isn’t it obvious what it might be?” he retorts, mirth in his tone.

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes. It’s the rope Meg gifted me.”

“Gifted _us_ ,” Thanatos corrects him, unwinding the rope in his hands. He steels his face when Zagreus’ tongue flicks out to wet his lips at the sight, hoping to look unphased. “It’s a beautiful scarlet, don’t you think? The rope contrasts well with your skin.”

“So, what is the hold-up then?” Zagreus gives him a clear come-hither look. “If what you say is true, that rope should be donned upon my flesh, as to best complement my complexion, shouldn’t it?”

Thanatos gulps inaudibly. “Manners, Zagreus.” Zagreus constrained is in his line of sight, so close to becoming reality.

“Would you like me to be bashful instead?” Zagreus is joking. He is the farthest thing from bashful when he knows he can have his way. 

“No,” deadpans Thanatos. It is such a curt response that even Zagreus seems a bit surprised. He clears his throat and tries again, “No. I would like you to be just as you come.”

The prince digests Thanatos’ words for a second before tilting his head, smarmy. “‘Just as I come’, eh?”

Thanatos’ eyes narrow. “You know well what I mean.”

“Hmm,” is all he gets in reply from Zagreus, who then positions himself neatly and braces his arms behind his back.

The way he holds his forearms at the curve of his spine accentuates his posture, bringing his chest forward and presenting his sculpted torso in nothing short of erotic. He can be compliant when he wants to, and this is one of those times. Thanatos cannot wait to tie Zagreus up.

And tie him up, he does. 

Blood and Darkness, Zagreus is so malleable and willing as Thanatos expertly loops and knots the rope around him in an intricate pattern of geometric, diamond-like shapes. They are just tight enough to keep Zagreus bound, yet they do not dig into skin as they get tighter with the mere sign of struggle. For all it is worth, Thanatos’ blade will be the one doing the job of digging into flesh.

Only when he brings forth the knife again does Zagreus start squirming against the rope.

“You will only hurt yourself, if you continue to do that, Zag,” reminds Thanatos, switching the handle of the knife from one hand to the other, as if juggling it. Still, Zagreus continues to wriggle. “Zagreus.” This time, his tone comes out strong, louder than before. “Cease your struggle or it will come with pain.”

“And if pain is what I want?” Zagreus challenges Death Himself. There is a mischievous glint within that green eye of his.

Thanatos purses his lips. This is exactly what Zagreus wants from him; wants him to cut and hurt and bring him the ultimate rapture. Who is he to deny the prince?

“Then pain is what you get.”

Excitement, eagerness, nerves build up inside Thanatos until it releases in an explosive _thwack_ against Zagreus’ comely face. The sound echoes through the prince’s chambers, clear as crystal. It is only seconds later that Thanatos realizes what he has done, has hit Zagreus with an open hand.

“More,” spits Zagreus, his head turned in the direction of the slap. Thanatos notices the way his neglected cock weeps with precum, an angry red that is absolutely beautiful. Just the sight alone is enough to squash the impending guilt that threatens him to desist.

A second slap sounds, knocking Zagreus’ head to the other side. Thanatos uses the back of his hand now, knuckles stinging as they collide with Zagreus’ prominent cheekbone. Then, he is caressing the prince’s face, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks before he restarts the process.

“Yesss,” Zagreus hisses. His skin is in the beginning stages of smarting, cheeks ruddy with color. He is the only god that Thanatos has seen with the ability to smart, to bruise, to allow his body to become so battered and tattered before Styx reclaims him and makes him anew. “More, sir, please.”

Satisfied with his work, Thanatos grabs Zagreus by a bound arm and roughhouses him so that the prince is on his knees, bent at the waist with his face in the pillows. 

“Hips up, now.” Thanatos taps Zagreus’ ass in warning, though he is sure Zagreus would be up for some of that, too. When Zagreus does not move, he hesitates none to lay his hand on him not once, but three times in rapid succession. He relishes in Zagreus’ cry, muffled by the luxuriousness of the cushions. The prince turns his head so he can pant breathlessly into the ambient air. “I said, hips up, Zagreus.” His fingers stroke lazily over Zagreus’ balls, tracing the vein that sits at the underside of his attentive member. “Or do you want me to punish you here, too?”

He feels Zagreus stiffen, then cants his hips and pushes his ass out like the good god that he is aware he can be. Relief swells, but Thanatos ignores it as he moves on. Kneeling over, he squeezes the meat of Zagreus’ ass with both hands and dares to lick a broad stripe along his taint.

“Oh!” Zagreus moans when Thanatos drags the faintest hint of teeth against it. His hole flutters in reaction. Thanatos wants to have a go at that area, too, but not before he cuts up his prince a little more.

Locating the knife, Thanatos pats the backside of Zagreus’ thigh and waits for permission. Zagreus nods into the pillows, and only then does Thanatos make quick slashes across the epidermal layer of his skin. He could flay the prince to the bone, but he chooses to make him bleed another way; drops the knife onto the mattress and claws at the freshly lacerated skin with his nails. Blood gushes forth, painting Thanatos’ hand in a dynamic vermillion.

Zagreus mewls more than shouts, “Fuck!”

He curses as Thanatos repeats the same to his other leg, carving his own unique design into Zagreus’ skin. Zagreus begins to shake, shivering with all the sensations that run through his system. Thanatos copies the pattern he has sliced into the prince’s skin with his tongue then, drinking from him like a fountain of life. He kisses Zagreus’ flesh until his mouth is between Zagreus’ globes, poised before his hot pucker. The red rope is nestled on either side of his groin, consequentially framing the prince’s hole like fancy drapery. Spreading his entrance with both thumbs, Thanatos dips into Zagreus with his tongue.

Zagreus must have cleaned. Only a hint of his natural musk washes over Thanatos’ mouth, mostly tasting of the bath salts that Zagreus smuggles from the surface of the earth whenever he visits his mother, per Persephone’s request, of course. It makes his skin supple, gives him a glow that nearly matches the sparks that come from Zagreus’ soles.

Thanatos jabs his tongue in and out of Zagreus, teasing his rim that continues to wink under his touch. With wet, bloodied hands, he inserts a finger with caution. A wounded noise rips from Zagreus’ throat then, causing Thanatos to pause. Blood does not good lubrication make, the death incarnate surmises.

He removes his now sticky finger, as the blood’s liquid has evaporated and asks, “Do you have the oils I purchased for you nearby?”

Grunting an affirmative, Zagreus shifts to remind Thanatos that his arms are still bound. “They’re under my head.”

“Under the pillow?”

“Yes,” Zagreus murmurs.

Thanatos guides Zagreus onto his back, away from the pillows, and sticks his hand under them to find the vials of oil. Collecting one, he returns between Zagreus’ shapely legs. The prince brings them around the death incarnate’s waist, spreading himself nicely for Thanatos. The action almost has Thanatos imagining taking him without preparation. How he would writhe and beg… it is something Thanatos fears neither of them are ready for. Not yet, at least.

“Patience, Zagreus.” He unstops the vial of oil, pouring some over his hand, the rest over Zagreus’ hole.

Zagreus flinches at the cool-hot difference, but the oil goes from viscous to slick immediately as it reacts to his body heat. It makes him glisten, so tempting that Thanatos wishes he could carry around a painting of what he is seeing with him at all times. Instead, he kisses Zagreus tenderly on the lips and re-inserts a finger into Zagreus’ tight entrance.

He lets Zagreus get used to the thin girth. “Breathe,” he says when he takes notice of Zagreus’ lack of chest movement.

“Move,” Zagreus grits out instead.

Thanatos shakes his head. “Not until you loosen up for me.”

“Can’t,” complains Zagreus. He attempts to buck his hips and accidentally jabs himself with the knife that has somehow ended up poking him behind his tailbone. “Than!”

Thanatos fishes the knife from him, wielding it as he adds a second finger without warning.

“Loosen. Up.” Thanatos bites out the words.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of Zagreus, hoping that the prince will do as requested. When he does, his sphincter pushes out, allowing Thanatos to scissor him, then penetrate him with three digits at a pace that is too much, yet not enough for either of them. Thanatos eyes the red seeping from Zagreus’ slashes and into the bedsheets below, certain that they will need to be incinerated not long after he and Zagreus are done with them; there is no salvation for the sheets. 

Before long, Zagreus has thrown all caution to the wind, frantic, heels bearing down on the small of Thanatos’ back. He does what he can to ride his fingers, but to no avail.

“Gods, sir.” He implores, “In me. Inside me. Fuck me.”

“No gods here but you and I, my prince,” Thanatos mocks him softly, but his voice betrays the thoughts swirling in his mind.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Zagreus throws at him. That sentence, the one that was first deposited from Thanatos’ lips during what feels like eons ago, pierces him deep. He barely hears when Zagreus repeats his question, just how he did when Thanatos became desperate for the prince’s touch, “ _What are you waiting for?_ ”

He is right. He has always been right. There is no sense in anticipating anymore. Thanatos finally gives in, withdrawing his fingers from Zagreus so he can situate himself at the front of Zagreus’ entrance.

A perfunctory stroke over his length later, he is plunging into Zagreus’ fiery heat.

Zagreus no less than ululates his pleasure and pain when Thanatos sinks into him. The death incarnate holds him with one arm, the other still keeping the blade fixed within his grip.

Thanatos cannot help but let that rising gasp escape from his lungs as he slides to the hilt. Inside Zagreus, it always feels hot, so tight, that he can only describe it one way: with the term _divine_. He is like velour, unlike anyone Thanatos has had the honor of bedding. Zagreus fits around him like a glove, perfect, so perfect that it would not be hard to fantasize that he was made for Death Himself.

He cannot wait any longer. Denying his wants not, Thanatos rolls his hips into Zagreus, feeling the god beneath him clench. Then, he is pulling out, only to set a harsh, fast rhythm that makes them undulate against one another. The debauched slap of skin against damp skin fuels his lust, surrounds both he and Zagreus like some sort of casting spell. The golden ichor pounds through his arteries, rushing through his cardiovascular system like a river. The knife in his hand glimmers, hungry for blood. But his blood, it does not want to take. It craves, just like its owner, something far better...

Zagreus wails when Thanatos’ blade buries itself in the meat of his shoulder. Thanatos growls as he smells the scent of Zagreus’ life essence, slurping it up as fast as it rises to the surface of his skin. He pounds Zagreus hard into the bed, friction so good that it is sinful. Zagreus is so piquant that he feels like the sun beating down upon the death incarnate when he visits the surface of the earth.

“Ah,” Zagreus exclaims when Thanatos’ knife pulls out and plunges back in. Instead of agony, it is ecstasy that gilds his expression. “Yes..!”

Thanatos’ world tilts, mind defiled until he is just acting on base desires. Still, he whispers, “You are incorrigible, Zagreus.”

Without warning, Thanatos piledrives his prince, rhythm going from bruising to brutal. He thrusts unforgivingly, so much so that Zagreus is scooting up the bedsheets. His tongue finds each line of blood that leaks steadily from the god, drinking him in big swallows but carefully, as not to accidentally cut himself on the metal of the blade.

“You’re mine,” Thanatos snarls.

“Yours,” Zagreus answers honestly.

Thanatos ruts like a wretch in heat, like he has caught fire and Zagreus is the cause of his urgency. He rams in, Zagreus’ hips meeting him halfway. He pulls out until only the head of his cock is lodged within, earning a moan from his lover. Thanatos can practically hear Zagreus’ heartbeat as he continues to plow him; can feel it all around him. Zagreus’ dick slaps against their bellies, a molten bar between them. His face is twisted in pleasure, his arms so tightly bound now that it makes his muscles bulge where the wine-colored rope is not covering. He looks like he is riding a tight line, teetering on the brink of rapture.

Not yet, Thanatos is the one who will have the honor to return his soul to Styx. He wrenches the knife from Zagreus’ shoulder as fast as he can, unable to ignore the gush that squirts from a segmented vein and the scream that crests from Zagreus’ larynx. His free hand releases Zagreus’ squeezed-violet waist to wrap it around the god’s dribbling length. He strokes him with a constant twist of his wrist, palm plummeting down before jerking upwards without mercy.

Zagreus blubbers out a string of incoherent noises, something that sounds eerily similar to “please” and “coming” and Thanatos’ own name. Crystalline tears streak his face, long lashes darkened by them. Zagreus needs Thanatos now, now, now…

“Thanatos!”

Zagreus screeches at the top of his lungs just as Death Himself impales the prince right through the heart. Blood floods his lungs, bubbling and gurgling from his oropharynx. It pours from him like a cascade, bathing him like he was always meant to be embellished in cerise.

His cock sprays both he and Thanatos in jets of pearly seed, cum a pyretic temperature against their abdomens. Zagreus’ eyelids flitter as he finds purchase, muscles quivering from the force of his orgasm. His blood stains the bed, framing him like fluid rose petals. He is so alluring, truly fitting the title God of Blood.

Thanatos doubles his force, fucking into Zagreus without surrender. But his tempo falters, his inhales and exhales even more so. All he can see is red; the red of Zagreus’ blood around him, Zagreus’ blood on him, Zagreus’ blood _in_ him. He is falling over the edge of euphoria and there is nothing he can do to stop himself.

Rhapsody overtakes him, blinding Thanatos’ golden eyes and deafening his ears. His loins blush with intensity. He faintly recognizes when his teeth latch onto Zagreus’ neck, biting possessively like a rabid animal. It is like he is thrown from his body, up into the stars where they pop like fireworks. All he can do is feel, get lost in the moment. One second, he is Thanatos, death incarnate, and the next he is just a being whose sole purpose is to receive pleasure. Everything feels ethereal; amazing. He is in awe, like the many times he has laid his gaze upon the prince. It is when his mind’s eye turns to Zagreus, the one Zagreus that captured his heart all those times ago. He has got to go back to him so he may hold Zagreus once more.

Thanatos crashes into his own body with a wheeze. His vision, blurry at first, focuses enough for him to catch the light fading from Zagreus’ precious eyes, jaw slack as Styx reclaims him. Thanatos holds onto Zagreus as long as he can before his figure vanishes in Styx’s swirling carmine, leaving Thanatos cold and alone. The binding rope, the one he tied Zagreus in, lies on the ruined sheets in knots. A sense of mourning comes to him even though he knows that Zagreus will rise from the red, watery depths located just shy of Hades’ throne.

Quietly, he dresses himself in front of the giant mirror given to Zagreus by Nyx. He wets a rag he procures from a chest nearest the scrying pool, scrubbing away at the blood caked on his person, on his mouth, under his nails. He will need a full session in the baths to abluere himself completely, but he figures it will have to happen at another time. Zagreus is coming back soon. Thanatos discards the now soiled cloth, grabs a change of clothing for the prince, and rushes out to the main hall.

He does not give any mind to Lord Hades, his mother or his twin brother, Hypnos, as he reaches the front of the house. He stands there at the entrance, waiting, hoping, by all means even praying to anyone who is willing to listen, for Zagreus to return.

The red waves lap at Thanatos’ feet, though there is not a current or tide that moves it. He stands there, still as stone. Minutes tick by, and yet there is no sign of Zagreus. He should be going, moving on to get back to his duties, but he could care less until the prince rises from the stubborn holds of the river’s water.

“Did Zargreus die again?” he hears Hypnos sing-song from his comfortable chaise, not understanding the graveness of this situation.

Thanatos snaps, “Silence, brother.”

Hypnos opens his mouth, tongue cocked with a sarcastic jab, but closes it when Hades throws him a menacing glare; not that Thanatos is looking. He is too busy examining the water’s surface for any type of movement. He waits.

And he waits some more.

Worry creeps into him through the hairline cracks in his soul. Why has Zagreus not returned yet? Was their play too much? Or worse, had Thanatos actually killed Zagreus? Salty teardrops spring from him abruptly, falling into the pool beneath his feet. He would never forgive himself if he did bring Zagreus to his end. Zagreus is his, and he is Zagreus’. They established this fact all too recently. Zagreus cannot leave him now, he cannot, else it be Thanatos’ fault.

Then, there. There! Thanatos is short-winded when a Zagreus-like shape emerges from the water, wading through it like it is molasses.

“Zagreus.” He hurries to the prince’s side, throwing a wrinkled robe over Zagreus’ nakedness to shield him from prying eyes. “Are you all right?”

What he witnesses next makes Thanatos’ heart skip a beat. Zagreus stands in all of his glory, bringing Death Himself to him, secure in his arms, and smiles enthusiastically. “I’ve never felt better, Than.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudo if your heart skipped a beat too, like Thanatos, upon laying your eyes on Prince Zagreus of Hades.
> 
> BONUS that went on in my head-  
> Than: You absolute *asshole*  
> He pushes Zag back into the pool, leaving everyone very surprised.  
> Zag, sputtering: Okay, yeah. Maybe I deserved that a little  
> Hypnos watches everything go down with popcorn.
> 
> Happy Holidays, and please scream with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ra9ical)!


End file.
